


Remembering This Shoulder To Cry On

by Lynn_StarDragon



Category: Tattered Weave (Video Game)
Genre: Allusions to secret quest chains, I'm a terrible person who loves these two men and I need to make it everyone's problem, M/M, WIP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:14:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27497776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lynn_StarDragon/pseuds/Lynn_StarDragon
Summary: Dollmaker weeps for the dead... even when they are standing right next to him. Even if they don't remember his name.
Relationships: Eventual Dollmaker/Hero/Lynn, The Dollmaker/The Hero (Tattered Weave)
Kudos: 3





	Remembering This Shoulder To Cry On

**Author's Note:**

> The full(er) version of my entry for the November Writing contest. This is... very sketchy and rough draft-ish.
> 
> I'll be coming back to this later to flesh it out more, but for now Enjoy!

Entering the Graveyard, Hero looked cautiously about for any signs of nefarious activities going on. Too much was afoot this Halloweave season, what with the dangerous lurking of The Seeba!

He would have to be extra cunning to outwit such wickedness.

At his side, Mawnite sighed like the wind gently blowing through the twisted branches of dried trees before heading onward. Really, there was nothing for them to worry about.

“We don’t know that, Mawnite,” Hero answered before rushing forward to hide in the shadow of a larger tombstone. “The Trickster Scribe has become far more active outside of the vile Narrator’s former castle.” Looking towards the welcoming building before them he added, “That is why we are here—to thwart her designs on the kind Dollmaker, whatever they might be!”

The white kith nodded, but said nothing more, trudging slowly over to the entrance of their target establishment. His ally, of course, elected to sprint into the shadow of the next nearest monument. The kith only rolled his eyes towards the skylights with fond exasperation.

By the time Hero ‘crept’ his way to the entrance of Captive Audience, the ghosts had been chattering to the proprietor about his new visitor long before the door was flung wide. 

“Ho! Dollmaker!” The armored role rushed into the space, “Are you well? Are you here?”

“Indeed I am,” came the velvet smooth voice of the taller Thespian. Rather than being startled, the mending man put down his work and turned to greet both newcomers cordially, his own gentle kith twirling out into the open to say hi as well. 

“Good,” Hero breathed with relief, “I see that whatever wickedness is brewing, it has not sunk its villainous claws into your heart.” Sheathing his sword at last, Hero finally stepped inside the establishment properly. Swiftly crossing the room to come over to Doll’s side, the building’s door swung itself closed with a soft click of the latch (as opposed to any kind of atmospheric bang or crash of doom). “I had worried that the malcontent Scribe had worked her spells upon you while I was away. Thus, I resolved to hurry over.” Because the thought, just the thought, of this gentle man being overtaken by evil made something inside of him ache with a pain to rival the worst of the throbbing in his head.

“No no, dear Hero,” Doll took armored hands into his gloved ones, “I would never return to such a life.” His ears stayed level with sincerity, even as he stood to his full height. “You’ve arrived at an opportune time, Hero,” he spoke the word with a particular accenting that always made the red-skinned Thespian smile under his mask. “I’ve closed my little shoppe for some rest. Would you care for a bite?” (It was safer to change the direction of the plot with a sidestep than to chase down that monologue.)

When he didn’t have to ask twice, it was Doll’s turn to smile. “Come, I’ve prepared a few of my favorites.”

“And our friends were able to share extras,” Eludance happily told both of their guests before tapping after his ally.

That sounded interesting to Mawnite, maybe if they had anything with bones in it! Or, not really about to be picky, if anything had plenty of salt for flavor…

Hero laughed as they followed behind their gracious hosts, “You would drink the ocean, were I ever to travel with you to the far flung Coral Reef.”

The skeletal kith wasn’t about to deny that…

Dinner, however, was a bone free affair.

There were plenty of pumpkin buns and a good amount of Beet Stew, bread pudding, beet pastas and Ink Drinks to name a few local dishes. But there were other things as well, Fresh Coconut Juice—that Dollmaker positively purred with delight as he drank—leafy green salads of all shapes and sizes, in accompaniment of fantastic fruits, assorted breads that Hero knew he’d never seen before and a heartier dish of something utilizing no less than three different breeds of mushroom.

“How fortuitous that you should have such a bounty this night,” the brave warrior marveled at the assortment that clearly spanned the collective Remnants. “Indeed, one might suspect that this was somehow arranged.”

Doll’s ear-tips only twitched down for the blink of an eye. “You’ve come to check in on me every night in this lonesome October.”

“Aye,” Hero agreed, pausing his spoon of stew halfway between his bowl and his just visible mouth. Mask lifted only enough to partake of the food without giving the rest of his features away, The Dollmaker was still able to make out the shape of his carefree smile from vivid memory. “But how many of those nights have I been afforded the time to stay with you long enough to take a meal?”

Keeping his own smile carefully neutral, Doll prided himself in only permitting the smallest flicking of his ears to belie the weighted agony sinking in the depths of his heart. “Too true,” he answered without answering that it had been enough nights for him to prepare for tonight. Under the table, he felt Eludance pat his knee in support while Mawnite looked at the man with no small amount of pity.

Yes, some scripts were just too cruel to their players.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Why do you have that?”

In his hands, betwixt nimble fingers, The Dollmaker had the rag-doll likeness of The Hero, complete with jutting arrows the thickness of toothpicks and a scaled to size polearm. He was in the process of mending one of the loose scales of armor on a shoulder when Hero had arrived for his daily visit to ensure that the crafter had not succumbed to evil.

Looking up from his personal project, Dollmaker blinked owlishly behind his mask at his self-appointed guardian. Hero motioned to the cloth version of his armored visage in the craftsman’s hands and the gentle soul smiled sadly. “You know my duties to the stage.”

“Verily,” Hero agreed, “you inherited them from The Count—keeping the memories of the fallen and morning those departed that they are never truly forgotten from the stage.”

In moments like these it was a struggle for Doll not to get his hopes up. Every little piece of his past that the other Thespian recounted from memory was precariously balanced between pained longing for it to signal the weakening of mysterious magic and the overwhelming likelihood that his Hero was only repeating common trivia he’d reheard from far more many mouths than he could count.

Holding his ears stiffly, he calmly waited for the other man to elaborate.

“But I am not departed yet,” though said amicably, there was heavy suspicion in his voice.

Doll knew, and braced his heart against the oncoming explanation. “It is unfinished, in preparation for a far off future date. And,” he quickly cut off any objections, “not the only little darling I have made.” As if to drive the point home, at his elbow sat a similar doll of the young Witch. Holding the Hero doll gently, he motioned with an empty hand to a singular shelf in the long wall.

Curious, Hero wandered over to investigate. What he saw made him gasp. Why, there were figures of both The Wolf and The Scribe sitting patiently together. There were other roles sitting with them—he recognized the Matchmaker and The Moth. And they weren’t the only ones. He could make out The Jay and other denizens of Hope, but even their newer friends from the Enchanted Forest, and the strange Cosmic Solarium were represented there as well along with other faces. Hero even exclaimed in delight to see The Pirates there with the rest of the cast and crew.

“Why,” the usually reckless Thespian reached forth with a kind of tender reverence for the sown smiles, but never quite managed to touch any of their little faces. His question was left hanging with endless possibilities.

Taking the surface meaning, Doll moved to stand beside his guest. “Well, I find that when I miss friends the most, my little darlings help keep a smile on my face by reminding me of our times together.” Placing Hero’s doll into the empty space left for him, Doll’s hand traveled over to another section of shelf holding even more familiar faces.

Hero’s gaze tracked with the gloved fingers, where they alighted upon, “…Rain.” Hero felt his heart swell with warmth to see the miniature version of his traveling friend. “Her likeness—it’s perfect.” He breathed out in awe.

“She’s not alone,” Doll intoned gently, allowing himself to smile unseen. Like this, it was safe to relax, just a little, to imagine what could be regained while acknowledging what was real around him.

The brave Thespian was delighted to see so many travelers collected together, and even happier when he recognized a little face. Here was The Shazzbaa, next to The Birch Tree. There was The Huntsman with his dear bread loving companion holding onto a small spotted cat. The Victor was guarding her love as well, and there was the monochrome friend to the Scribe, and The Moon and The Void and The Gremlin and The Collector and so many more faces that he couldn’t even count them all! It was like all the remnants were represented in miniature here, with room for the new cast of the Golden Coliseum held aside. Oh it was all so delightful, remembering them all…

“While not as talkative as my haunted darlings,” Doll’s words quietly cut into Hero’s thoughts, “they still speak to me.” Extending a loving hand to run carefully over the heads of several sitting dolls, he explained that, “With their help I’m able to better remember the times we’ve spent together. Their watchfulness abates any loneliness Eludance cannot combat.”

Looking over at his teal-skinned host, Hero could see that his ears were up, relaxed… happy. This was… what The Dollmaker was like when he was genuinely unguarded and happy.

Strangely, he wished the other had more to talk about so that he could just peacefully continue listening to the man speak. But, it seemed that the crafter was content enough to just gaze upon his own work, perhaps lost in reminiscing.

For the moment, he gave the man peace, chasing his own past with the gathered likenesses. The many grand adventures he had had with so many travelers brought a smile to his face. But then, there were the travelers who visited enough to choose staying on…

Another unfinished doll caught his eye, with a purple uniform and purple hair. Hero tilted his head to the side curiously before carefully reaching out to extract the figure.

While the Dollmaker didn’t move to stop his guest, he did hold his breath. What would the combative role do with that particular treasure?

Hero, however, stared. He just stared, ears unmoving, hardly breathing, holding the piece with both hands. There were no details to the face, a pair of small black animal ears set into the hair, just as there was a black tail—wolf tail, a wolf tail poking out of the baggy pants. It was strange to him, looking at this little toy, he could almost hear… music.

Just when Doll thought nothing would come of the moment, he heard Hero start to hum softly. He didn’t recognize the tune at first, though he felt it was familiar somehow. It wasn’t until the other recited the lyrics that his heart clenched with understanding.

“Sakura thousandfold, entwined with the night/Even you voice, shall not reach here…”

Dollmaker looked away, took a shuddering breath, remembering a feast for friends and the gentle monster of Hope dancing for them in the moonlight as the beast cracked wide his own heart with the power of voice. It was a moment or two before he could recover from his lapse in character, ears betraying nothing again.

When he looked back, Hero was still examining the doll with a kind of fondness. “Tis funny,” he bemusedly began, “that a tune so cheerful should contain so much lurking sadness.” At a loss for what to say, it came to nothing as Hero turned to him with a smile in his voice. “I’m… glad, so many of our friends are always watching over you.” Especially when he could not.

For the moment, he did not cry. “Thank you, Hero,” instead he tucked it away for later, for when his sweet Hero would leave his side to patrol the Stage. Someday, maybe, someday, his Hero would remember why such a thought made him so happy.


End file.
